


Mapped Out Memories

by MermaidMarie



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s04e13 No Better To Be Safe Than Sorry, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-03-02 13:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMarie/pseuds/MermaidMarie
Summary: In which the Monster sees his sister about to kill Quentin, and he makes a decision.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You know what, I have decided that I don't care how many fix-it fics there already are. We need many. We need many rewrites and many speculative pieces about what could've/should've happened.   
> So anyway. I felt like writing the Monster's perspective, and this happened.   
> The whole thing will not be just the Monster's perspective though.

There was… something else that he remembered.

Or. Not quite.

Remembered wasn’t right.

He… felt? He thought?

There was a lingering feeling, in the back of his mind, like…

He didn’t know.

He felt like Quentin might know. Quentin seemed to know a lot of things.

He thought he’d remember everything by now, he thought…

But there were things missing. Things just out of his reach, things wavering in the corners.

His sister was supposed to make him remember everything. That was what was supposed to happen. He rescued her, and he fixed her, and they could be together now. And he was supposed to _remember_ everything.

They were in the park—the humans liked to walk here, slowly, in circles. It was strange, meaningless. One of those human things that he never could wrap his mind around.

In the park, holding hands as they walked.

The only family he had.

He thought…?

His sister was all he remembered.

“A lot’s changed since I’ve been gone,” she said.

“Yes. The humans made lots of good stuff.” He liked the park. He liked so many of the human creations, the human quirks and pastimes and games. All the games.

His sister looked around. She didn’t look much like Julia, he realized. Despite it being Julia’s body that he’d given her. “They spend their small lives building things that we can smash in a heartbeat,” she said. She sounded amused.

Smashing things… Yes, that was something they could do. But the park? These statues? These buildings? Surely she liked some of it.

He decided not to dwell. They wouldn’t have to destroy everything. It could be like…

Like with Quentin and the planes. Destroy some things. Not others.

“Sounds fun. Perhaps you can tell me—” He clung to her arm, just a little. A concern he’d been having… “Do I have a name?”

She looked up at him and her lip curled. “Why would you need one?”

She pulled away from him.

Empty hands, empty arms, empty. He felt cold, confused.

Quentin had a name. Julia had a name. That other one, he had a name, too. And _Eliot_ , Eliot had a name. Maybe that was why they all liked him so much. Maybe his name could be Eliot, too, and then they’d like him the same way.

Like when Margo had, Margo had said—

She loved Eliot. If his name was Eliot, too, then…

His sister walked a few paces ahead of him, and he felt… Guilty? Upset?

Feelings were confusing.

He slowed. “Starbucks, mostly.”

“This whole time I felt so sorry for you. Lost and alone.” His sister’s voice was distant, strange. So unlike Julia’s voice. Julia’s voice that would go up and down and up and down… “But you weren’t alone, you were with the humans. You talk like them. You think like them.”

Uncertain, he looked at the ground. Guilty, yes, that was the word. Wasn’t it? “I ate a few of them.”

“Yes, but you _care_ about them.”

Caring about the humans…

Was he not supposed to?

They were his friends. They… played games with him. They gave him food. They had been trying to help him. Quentin…

Keeping his head turned away, he sat down on a bench.

His sister took a seat beside him.

“You think I’m disappointed,” she said. “I’m not.”

She reached over, pushing the hair back from his face. There was something affectionate in the gesture, but then, something else—

Some lingering thing in the corners of his memory going _danger, danger, danger._

“Are you scared of me, little brother?”

He didn’t remember being afraid before.

He did now.

He’d learned what lying was from Quentin.

“Would I have worked so hard to bring you back if I was scared of you?” he said, not looking at her. “All I thought about was you. After I remembered you existed, anyway.”

“Hm.” She pulled her hand back, and he kept very still. “It took you a while.”

He bit his tongue. He’d lost all his memories. What was he supposed to say?

She was studying his face, her eyes steady and cold.

Not Julia.

And then she started talking about how to get revenge on their parents, their creators who called them mistakes and abandoned them—

How they could get to their realm and hurt them—

She did not want to play games. She was not interested in any card tricks.

There was something in him that was wary… Unsure.

He thought he’d remember more…

He thought she’d want to help him remember more.

But she did not want to be a family. She wanted to destroy. She wanted to hurt.

He didn’t understand.

 “We have to go to the Library,” she said in her raspy not-Julia voice. “We can find the Scroll. And we can go after the old gods.”

Did she know? What he’d done?

What he’d done…

There was a memory in there somewhere… just out of reach.

There it was again. Fear.

Such a strange feeling.

 

Searching the Library…

He wasn’t that interested in finding the scroll. He just wandered near his sister, hands brushing along the books.

It took him some time to realize that he had wandered farther from her than he’d meant to.

As he made his way back, he heard…

Voices.

Familiar voices.

He stood apart from his sister, looking on, confused.

Quentin was here, why was Quentin here?

His sister lifted her hand, and—

“Wait, but, I—” he said, frowning.

She turned to him sharply. He took a step back.

“You care about this one,” she said. Accusatory.

“I—”

He did not know what to say to that.

He looked over at Quentin, who was… Just standing there. Watching.

“You should learn to not get attached to such _fragile_ things, little brother,” she said, her voice low.

She was… going to kill Quentin.

Why was she going to kill Quentin?

He didn’t want her to.

So he made a decision.

He let Eliot fall to the ground, and he took Quentin’s body. And he brought them both away, somewhere safe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only sort of know what I'm doing at any given moment.

Gasping, Eliot’s eyes flew open. He leaned up sharply, putting a hand to his temple.

_God,_ he had a splitting headache. And he had absolutely, truly, no idea where he was. Someone’s apartment, it looked like. Someone’s very nice apartment. He squeezed his eyes shut, finding the sunlight from the window altogether too bright.

What had _happened?_

He’d been rescued, he supposed. He’d just been in the Happy Place of the Cottage, with the memory versions of his friends, hollow echoes of the people he loved…

The people he loved.

His managed to open his eyes again, ignoring the pounding in his skull.

He looked up, and…

“Q,” he said softly, relief almost flooding his system, until…

Quentin was standing over him, but something about him looked… different.

The tentative hope in Eliot’s chest dwindled, and he shrank back to the floor a little bit.

“So you are Eliot,” Quentin said. His voice was soft and strange, stilted words and flat tone. His brow was furrowed in confused concentration.

“Qu-Quentin?” Eliot tried. His life had to be some kind of _fucking_ joke if—

“I am… not Quentin,” not-Quentin said carefully. “I was…”

He trailed off.

Eliot felt some sickening horror twist in his stomach. He felt weak and lightheaded, in pain, unable to really do anything. He supposed that’s what months of possession did to you.

So what he was absolutely not equipped for was _whatever the absolute ungodly fuck was happening._

“Where is Quentin?” he asked slowly, mildly. Trying not to make it sound like he was on the brink of either exploding or imploding. Really, quite a toss-up.

“He is here,” the Monster replied. A tiny, pleased smile on his face. A smile so _enormously_ unlike any of Quentin’s smiles. Eliot felt a jolt of pain in his chest, remembering Quentin’s smiles. “I rescued him.”

_Swallow the rage. Swallow the disappointment. Swallow the agony._ “That was… very thoughtful of you,” he replied, channeling some of that High King diplomacy.

What the _hell_ was going on? And why was it only the two of them here?

Eliot managed to sit up, pulling himself up onto the couch he’s been collapsed in front of.

“He is my friend,” the Monster said.

Eliot swallowed, having a truly hard time forcing himself to look at Quentin’s face. His eyes, his lips… Not _him_. It was so _wrong._ This wasn’t supposed to happen. Eliot was reeling. He had _just fucking woken up._ He had to get ahold of himself. There wasn’t time for this.

_Fucking compartmentalize. No one else is here—this is all on you._ “I’m sure he is,” he said evenly.

Not-Quentin sat down on the couch next to him. Far, far too close. Their legs were brushing against each other. It took all of Eliot’s willpower to not move away. It _wasn’t Quentin._

How had he woken up into _this_ nightmare? What was he supposed to do with it? He could barely get the air into his lungs, could barely get his vision to keep steady. He’d been lost to the world for months—how was _this_ what he came back to?

Where _was_ everyone?

“I did something good,” the Monster said, sounding a little startled and awed. He was looking on the floor in front of him. “I think… I think.”

“Yeah,” Eliot said kindly. “You did. If you saved Quentin, you did something very good.”

“And now, we can be friends, too. Even though you tried to kill me before.” The Monster leaned closer to Eliot.

Eliot stiffened.

He cleared his throat. “So, um. If you saved Quentin, if he’s, uh, if he’s your friend… Perhaps you’d like to let him go now?”

Tentative hope. Tentative optimism.

Fuck, something had to go right. Fucking eventually.

Right?

Eliot wasn’t sure. Optimism was more Quentin’s department than his.

But _Quentin wasn’t fucking there._

The Monster shook his head and something inside Eliot collapsed. _After all this, after all this fucking mess, after all this time—seriously, they couldn’t catch a single fucking break, how was this fucking happening, Eliot had promised to be brave—_

“I can’t,” he said, sounding childlike. “My sister wanted to hurt him. And now… Now I don’t have another body.” He glanced at Eliot, looking him up and down in a detached way. “You are too weak now. And this way, Quentin and I can spend more time together.”

Eliot ran his tongue along his lip, trying _desperately_ to think.

It would be easier if his head wasn’t still in searing pain. It would be easier if every part of his body didn’t ache. It would be easier if Quentin wasn’t _so fucking close_ and yet so absolutely inaccessible.

Fuck every part of this.

_Quentin is trapped in there somewhere._

\---

Quentin leaned back, stretching out on the bench. He took a deep, content breath.

It was such a nice day.

“Mm, taking the day off was the right call,” Eliot said, stroking his hair.

Quentin smiled up at him, squinting his eyes in the sunlight. “No rush, right?”

Eliot laughed, clear and open. “Apparently, we have all the time in the world, so to speak. The rest of our lives. Possibly literally.”

The sky was clear and so, so blue.

Quentin paused for a moment, wondering. “And that doesn’t scare you?” he asked.

“Oh, Q,” Eliot said, looking at him with near-sympathy. “Why would that scare me?”

It was so bright and soft, blurred at the edges. Their life was so simple and gentle and the sun was so warm and the breeze drifted through Eliot’s curls and Quentin was… God, he was _happy_.

He was so fucking _happy_.

The space was their cottage and their little clearing—the woods lining the edge seemed thicker than Quentin realized, like he couldn’t quite see through them. He didn’t have it in him to find that strange. Why would he want to leave, anyway? Where else would he want to go?

This beautiful contained place.

_Like a dream,_ he mused. With that thought, a small, nagging _something_ came up in the back of his mind. Like something he was forgetting…

He heard rustling in the trees.

He frowned, leaning up and looking over.

“Ignore it,” Eliot said, running his fingers through Quentin’s hair.

“I thought I saw…” Quentin said absently.

“Shh, I know,” Eliot replied. He leaned over and kissed Quentin tenderly on the forehead.

Quentin blinked, confused. Something felt… off. All of a sudden.

“El?”

“Hm?”

“I think I had a nightmare…” Quentin said. “I think… I think you were gone.”

Eliot smiled, warm and gentle. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The rustling in the trees again…

\---

Gathered in the Physical Cottage, they tried to regroup.

It wasn’t working.

“So what you’re telling me,” Margo said, eyes on Alice, her voice shaking, “is that _both_ Quentin and Eliot are gone now.”

Alice swallowed. She was going to get blamed for this, wasn’t she? Typical. If _Penny_ had just moved faster… Or if _Quentin_ hadn’t hesitated… Or if—

“Before I could even hit Julia with the axe,” Penny 23 said, rubbing his temples. “The Monster and Quentin just fucking disappeared.”

“Okay. So. To _fucking_ summarize. Q and El are fucking missing. Julia is still possessed. The goddamn magic lake is _gone_ , and no one thought to bring some backup. Alice isn’t juiced up anymore. Penny didn’t even use the axes I so _thoughtfully_ lent him. And we are completely out of motherfucking ideas?” Margo’s voice was getting sharper with each word.

Kady rubbed the bridge of her nose. “That about covers it,” she muttered.

“I sit out this _one fucking mission,”_ Margo snapped. “Just to make sure Josh got turned back into a goddamn human. And _this_ happens.”

Alice clenched her jaw. That wasn’t exactly _fair._ “The Monster just disappeared, what do you want from us?”

Margo turned towards her, glaring viciously. “I want _Eliot and Quentin back,”_ she replied emphatically.

“We all want our friends back,” Penny said, seeming to aim for placating and missing, landing somewhere around irritation.

“Don’t you fucking start,” Margo replied, pointing. “You just cared about Julia. But guess what, fucker? You couldn’t even save _her_. Nice fucking going, asshole.”

“Margo,” Kady sighed, putting a hand out. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Oh, it’s getting _me_ somewhere,” Margo said, crossing her arms.

“I’d like to have seen you do any fucking better,” Penny snapped back. “Cause guess fucking what, you wouldn’t have been able to do shit either, and you blaming me and Alice is just wasting everyone’s fucking time.”

“Look, we’ll figure it out,” Alice said, keeping her voice as light as she could, given the fact that she was reeling and hopeless. “We always do.”

“Fuck you,” Margo spat. “Don’t try to be Quentin right now. You’re the one that _lost_ _him_.”

Alice’s throat tightened. She dropped her gaze to the floor.

“That’s _enough,_ Margo,” Kady said sharply.

Alice couldn’t help but feel like they were ill-equipped to be the ones to handle this. Like if the roles were reversed, if they were the ones in trouble instead, Q and Eliot and Julia would fare much better.

As it was, they were all they had right now. Margo’s anger. Kady’s impatience. Penny’s defensiveness. And Alice’s failure.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I'm designing an entire fix-it fic over the sole fact that I wanted to write the Monster's perspective. Well, here we are.   
> Full disclosure, I don't know what I'm doing.

Margo headed back to Kady’s apartment, to check and see if Josh was still passed out from the apparent stress of having been a fish. It was all she could _fucking_ do right now, anyway. Josh didn’t exactly measure up to Q and El, but at least she could make sure _he_ was okay. Even if she couldn’t fucking check on her best friends.

But when she walked in the door, she froze.

Heart stopping. Unable to breath. Not wanting to blink in case it was a vision that would disappear.

_Quentin and Eliot._

There on the couch. And Eliot’s posture was familiar, so much more familiar than it had been in a long time—

“Eliot?” she said carefully, not bothering to feel embarrassed by the way her voice cracked.

Eliot jumped up, turning around to face her.

God, he looked _awful._ Bloodshot eyes, hair dirty and messy, pale and sunken and drained. But it was _Eliot,_ she could see it, see how his eyes were _his_ again.

His eyes were his again…

And he looked horrified.

“Bambi,” he said, his voice strained and cautious. “So nice to see you.”

Margo was confused, alarmed, maybe even a little hurt that _really, that’s how he greets her?_

Until Quentin stood. Moving jerkily and deliberately, turning slowly.

Margo’s skin went cold. _Not Quentin._

“Look, I gave Eliot back,” not-Quentin said, in a pleased tone.

She swallowed hard. “And instead you took Quentin,” she said flatly.

The Monster furrowed his brow and for a _second,_ it almost looked like her Q.

“Took… him…” he said slowly.

Eliot coughed, shooting her a look and shaking his head. “No, no, Margo,” he said, his voice light and casual. “See, he _saved_ Quentin. And we’re so grateful, aren’t we?”

Margo pressed her lips together. Like _hell_ was she going to thank the Monster right now.

The Monster tilted his head. “You’re upset,” he said to Margo, in his cold, empty voice. “I know what can help.”

With that, he vanished from the room.

Eliot let out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes closed and bracing his arm against the couch.

Margo rushed over to his, putting a hand on his chest. “God, El, I’m so fucking happy to see you,” she murmured. “Are you okay? You look like hell, I don’t even—Christ, El, I can’t—”

Eliot wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her into his chest and kissing her forehead. She felt something unravel and let out an involuntary, broken sob into that stupid fucking shirt he was wearing.

“Bambi, Quentin, I—what are we going to _do?”_ he whispered into her hair.

She could feel him shaking and tightened her grip around his waist for a moment.

“We’ll figure it out, El,” she said, pulling away just barely, so she could look him in the eyes to show him how much she meant it. “We _will_ get Q back. We will find a way.”

“I don’t even know what happened,” Eliot said, eyes wide.

Margo brought a hand up to his face, touching his cheek with gentle fingers. “You’re back,” she said softly. “We can get him back, too.”

“Margo, the Monster just fucking _let me go,”_ he replied, keeping his voice low. “How are we supposed to—”

“We had a plan,” she interjected. “To get you back. It involved me hallucinating you singing eighties songs with, truly, an absurd number of necklaces as I painstakingly went through grains of sand alone in the desert.”

“Bambi, what, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck?”

“Come on, sit. I’ll tell you the story and I’ll tell you the plan and then we can get to saving that adorable fucking nerd of ours, alright?”

\---

Penny paced the length of the Physical Cottage living room, clutching at the axe that Margo had left with him— _if you can manage to get it fucking right this time, 23,_ she’d hissed.

Whatever. She couldn’t blame him any more than he already blamed himself. He’d already failed to get Julia away from the Monster to begin with—he’s a _Traveler,_ he should’ve been able to get her out of there before the Monster even had the chance to _grab her_ and give her body to his sister _._

Penny just hadn’t been fast enough. He hadn’t been paying enough attention.

And now _this._

“Can you stop that?” Alice said. “It’s distracting.”

“No,” he replied, his voice flat. 

“Well, if you’re not gonna help—”

He stopped, pivoting towards her. “Help with _what,_ exactly? We have nothing.”

Alice pressed her lips together. “Well, we should at least _try—”_

“Yeah, fucking easy for you to say—”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Penny sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nothing. Sorry.”

She crossed her arms. “No, if you’ve got something to say to me, say it.”

Penny clenched his jaw. The restless anger was itching at him. “It’s just, you know, you and Quentin have been back together, what, five fucking minutes? And it’s not like your relationship was exactly a fucking success the first time around, from what _I_ hear, so sorry if I’m not—”

Alice exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. “Fuck you, Penny. You think because you’ve _replaced_ the love of your life with a reasonable body double, somehow your feelings matter more? Hey, if this doesn’t work out, just go find Julia in some other timeline, since apparently that’s all you need—”

“Okay, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about—”

“Neither do _you—”_

Penny took a deep breath, putting a hand up. Alice fell silent, pursing her lips and glaring.

_Get it together._

“Okay, we’re both just saying shit because the whole situation is fucked,” Penny said with a sigh. He was pissed, yeah, but Alice was the last person he wanted to be fighting with. Fighting with Margo and getting yelled at by Kady had been bad enough. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Alice waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry, too. _Whatever_. If you’re done with your freak-out, maybe you could actually try helping me figure this out.”

“Have you gotten anywhere?” he asked.

She shot him a look.

Well. That answered his question.

They were fucked.

\---

No one else was getting anything fucking done.

They were all bickering or wallowing or stressing. It was all very unproductive, and honestly, pretty goddamn annoying.

Maybe it wasn’t always as obvious, but Kady loved Julia and Quentin, too. And she cared about Eliot, too. So it’s not like she didn’t _get_ it. Emotions were running high. Kady wanted them to be okay as much as anyone else. She was just as worried as the rest of them.

But you know what wasn’t getting anyone fucking anywhere? Snapping at each other. Pacing and whining. Storming out.

Kady was losing what little patience she had with these people.

Yeah, whatever, they were her friends, but they could all be fucking morons sometimes. This, as it turned out, was one of those times, but they didn’t have the fucking time for that. They were on a clock, and things were falling apart fast, and everyone’s plans were fucking ridiculous.

Yeah, sure, trap an ancient immortal god in a flimsy glass bottle meant to hold sand demons. As long as they use a powerful binding spell, that should totally be fine, right? Sure, use the anti-possession axes on _Eliot and Julia’s actual bodies,_ and just hope they can recover from that.

Whatever. If Kady had to get shit done on her own, she would. Let Alice wallow in guilt. Let Penny pace around in circles. Let Margo run off to be angry somewhere else.

Kady had work to do.

She headed back to her apartment, but her plans got just a little derailed when she saw Margo and the Monster on the couch.

Wait—no, not the monster. Eliot.

“What the fuck?” she muttered, looking between the two of them rapidly.

Margo turned, her eyes wide. She didn’t look so angry anymore. She looked afraid. Which scared the shit out of Kady.

“Kady,” she said urgently. “We have another problem.”

“Well, fuck,” Kady replied.

“The Monster has Quentin,” Eliot said.

Well. It was always another fucking crisis. Wasn’t it?

\---

He needed to find some toy planes. Margo would feel better if she could throw some planes. It worked with Quentin.

But first…

He went back to the Library.

He wanted to know if his sister would still be there.

She couldn’t kill Quentin now, and maybe he could…

Maybe he could try to talk to her. Maybe he could explain why he didn’t want her to kill Quentin. Maybe she could understand, and they could be together as a family, and maybe he would _remember._

Remember what belonged in those remaining blank, empty spaces. Remember when he’d started existing.

Remember his name.

He must have a name.

Right? Everyone seemed to have a name.

He should have a name, too.

He sort of understood how people got names. They were given freely. You couldn’t take them.

Someone must have given him a name.

“Hello, little brother.”

Not Julia’s voice.

It was so cold. Didn’t she… like him?

“I see you’ve taken the other body,” she said, stalking towards him as she looked him up and down in distaste.

“Quentin is my friend,” he said mildly. He was so _confused._ What was the problem, with having friends?

“No,” she said. “He isn’t. He doesn’t care about you.”

He frowned. But they had so much fun together… They played all those games. And Quentin had—well, Quentin had _helped_ him. Quentin showed him card tricks, and brought him snacks, and…

“Do you care about me?” he asked.

She tilted her head to the side, regarding him.

Something about the way she looked at him…

It was almost a memory, almost…

“Oh,” she said, pitying. “You don’t understand what is important and what isn’t.”

She walked towards him and he took an involuntary step back. Why was he so…?

Uncomfortable. Was that the word?

“We are going after those that cast us aside, brother. Those that hurt us.” She almost smiled as he shrank away from her. “Why are you so interested in having someone _care_ about you?”

She said it with disgust. With contempt. Like he was pathetic for wanting friends. He felt… small.

She reached up, touching his face.

And he remembered something…

What he’d done…

That day, when the psychic had helped him with his memories…

He’d looked at those awful, cruel gods, the ones killing his sister, the ones stealing her power from her. He’d seen her desperation, her wrath, her helplessness. How she would have killed them, how she wanted to.

And he remembered who had told them where to find her.

It had been _him_.

In that memory, he felt upset, and hurt, and afraid…

And he also felt…

Relieved. That was the word.

His sister, who got bored easily, who broke and destroyed things when she was bored, and when he was the nearest _thing_ she could touch…

And they could not die. So he cracked like a toy plane and got glued back together. Over and over again, in that place where they’d been hidden and cast aside, with only each other until the Librarians decided they wanted to be gods.

He loved her. He did not want to see her in pain, see her get taken apart like that.

But for once, it wasn’t _him_ being taken apart.

He was going to be sent somewhere, it was the deal he’d made with the Librarians.

They would send him somewhere safe, with a friend. Everything was more fun with a friend. He could play games and…

“I could kill him right now,” she said, dragging a finger down his face. “Your _friend.”_

He stepped away.

He’d thought she wouldn’t hurt the body he was in. He thought that taking Quentin’s body would make him _safe._

He was wrong.

He remembered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm writing so many things right now. How did I get here? What am I doing? I have no idea.  
> Anyway. I live here now, I guess.  
> Side note: It has been a full month and I am still so so upset. Guys. When will it get better. Help.

“What do you think happens? If we solve it?” Quentin asked, lying down on their quilt that they’d laid over the Mosaic, looking up at the stars.

Eliot sighed next to him. Their arms were just barely close enough to be touching.

“Key to greater magic, right?” Eliot said, his tone distant.

“Yeah, but…” Quentin turned his head, looking at Eliot’s profile. “We go back? So, um, what happens to us? To our life?”

Eliot glanced at him fondly before looking back up. “Mm, I _know_. I, too, am concerned about who will water the flowers if we go. Whatever will happen to our garden?”

Quentin grinned, rolling his eyes. “You’re an asshole.”

Eliot reached over, slipping his hand into Quentin’s curling their fingers together. “You worry too much. Save your overthinking for the puzzle. We’ll be fine no matter where we are.”

Running his thumb along Eliot’s knuckles, Quentin felt warm. _Yeah_. This, right here, was something he didn’t have to overthink. He and Eliot, they worked. He knew that they worked. Every day they spent together was more proof. Every shared moment, every resolved fight.

And they could work anywhere. It was almost _simple_. As simple as anything in their crazy fucked up lives could be.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We’ll be fine anywhere.” And he meant it.

The trees along the border of their contained space seemed to move.

Quentin leaned up, frowning into the distance.

It felt like someone was trying to get in.

He blinked, tilting his head. Wondering…

And it was daylight, Eliot stretched out on the partial Mosaic in front of him, covering up the edge that Quentin was trying to work on.

Quentin laughed. “El, you have to _move.”_

Eliot sighed theatrically and waved a hand. “No. I live here now.”

“God, you’re so dramatic,” Quentin said, nudging at Eliot's leg. “C’mon, get off the tiles, I’m trying to figure this pattern out.”

Eliot groaned in response, propping himself up on his elbows. “There’s no way _this_ represents the beauty of all life. What’s it even supposed to be?”

“I’m trying to make it a Fibonacci sequence. You know, like—like the golden spiral or whatever.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip quirking up. “The golden spiral?” he repeated, sounding amused.

“Yeah, you know, like that math thing—the like, the sequence that um, shows up in nature all the time. Like you add the last two numbers together to get the next number and then, uh, it’s like—”

“There’s no way _math_ is involved in the beauty of all life,” Eliot replied. He leaned up fully, shifting closer.

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Okay, it’s not just _math,_ there’s more to it than that—god, weren’t you like, in the gifted program, too? Shouldn’t you know this kind of thing? The Fibonacci sequence is like—okay, so, um, it’s _important,_ not just in math, in like art, and science, and—”

With little warning, Eliot leaned in, pressing his lips to Quentin’s and cupping the side of his neck and dragging his thumb gently along Quentin’s jawline.

All the thoughts went out of Quentin’s head as he relaxed against Eliot, putting his palm to Eliot’s chest and feeling his heartbeat. What was he talking about again? He had no idea. His train of thought was completely derailed, feeling the heat of Eliot’s body against his.

Abruptly, Eliot drew back, with the slightest smug smile. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“I—um, I—I, well, uh…” Quentin stammered out, a little breathless. It was _entirely_ unfair that Eliot still seemed as cool and collected as ever, as Quentin was spinning and his cheeks were heating up.

“No, no, go on, you were in the middle of explaining something,” Eliot said in a teasing tone, with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

“What?” Quentin replied, his eyes on Eliot’s lips.

Eliot laughed, open and clear. “Oh, Q, you’re so _easy.”_

Quentin shot him a glare, but his gaze was drawn back to Eliot’s lips almost immediately. Inexplicably, he felt nervous, heart pounding. Like Eliot hadn’t just kissed _him,_ Quentin found himself with the buzz of anxiety on his skin at the thought of making a move.

He wondered if every kiss with Eliot would always feel like the first.

A little too quickly, he moved forward, pushing up against Eliot and kissing him deeply, climbing over to straddle him.

Eliot exhaled a short laugh into the kiss, wrapping an arm around Quentin, tangling his fingers into his hair.

“ _So_ easy,” he murmured.

“Shut up,” Quentin replied breathlessly, pressing harder into the kiss so Eliot couldn’t talk anymore. Eliot pulled him close, leaning up as he bit at Quentin’s lower lip. Quentin shivered, tightening his thighs around Eliot’s hips and grasping at his shirt, all heat and yearning.

Briefly, Quentin felt something in the back of his mind—like something he was forgetting. Something important. Like when there’s a word on the tip of your tongue and all you can think of is the first letter—

Was there—

Was there something that Quentin needed to do?

Something important.

An urgency, some muscle memory of an anxiety he’d been having, some worry about an impending disaster—

But what disasters could happen here? It was a slow, easy life they led—their cottage, the Mosaic, peaches and plums…

Desperate to push the lurking fear away, Quentin caught Eliot’s wrists, pushing him down on his back, bracing one hand on Eliot’s chest as he kissed him into the Mosaic. He dragged his hand down Eliot’s side, slipping his fingers up the soft Fillorian fabric of his shirt and hearing Eliot’s breath hitch as he gripped at his ribs.

Eliot pushed him away, just barely, so their lips could still almost brush. He gazed up fondly, stroking a lock of Quentin’s hair that had fallen into his face.

“I thought you told me to get off the tiles,” Eliot said, his voice low, soft.

“I don’t remember that,” Quentin replied with a slight smile.

Quentin started to lean in again, pinning Eliot’s shoulders, when—

The rustling in the trees—

Quentin frowned, sitting back up and looking into the distance, one hand resting on Eliot’s chest.

“Quentin?” Eliot said, brushing his knuckles down Quentin’s arm. “Ignore it.”

“But I thought I saw—” Quentin started, feeling confused.

When he looked back down, Eliot wasn’t there anymore. It was just him, kneeling on an incomplete pattern, the air getting colder around him. He was frozen in place for a few long moments, uncertain—

What was real?

Gently, he put a palm flat against the tiles where Eliot had been. The tiles felt like ice.

He glanced around, a sense of alarm in his chest.

He’d dreamed—

He’d dreamed that Eliot was gone—

“El?” he called hesitantly.

But there was no answer.

Hadn’t the sky just been blue, bright and clear and wide? Where had these clouds come from?

Quentin got to his feet slowly. He looked around the clearing, towards the cottage, to the table, to the flowers they’d planted, the flowers that seemed perpetually in bloom—

Quentin was alone.

“Eliot?” he called again, louder.

“Hey, hey, relax,” Eliot said.

Quentin blinked, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes.

They were in the cottage, in bed… The early morning sun was streaming in through the window, casting a golden glow on Eliot’s face.

Quentin sat up, running a hand through his messy hair, looking towards the door.

“Something weird is happening,” he murmured.

Eliot brushed gentle fingers down Quentin’s bare spine. “It was just a nightmare, Q.”

Quentin shook his head. “No, El… No, something is wrong.”

Eliot sat up, wrapping his arms around Quentin and pulling him in so that his chest was pressed against Quentin’s back. “Talk to me,” he said, resting his chin on Quentin’s shoulder and kissing his neck softly.

Quentin felt the sparks from the touch shooting down to his fingertips, but there was something… off.

“El?” he said softly. “Are you real?”

“If I’m not, how would asking me help?” Quentin felt Eliot smile as he continued to press gentle kisses into the side of Quentin’s neck.

Quentin closed his eyes, trying to let himself melt into Eliot, like he wanted to. Trying to let himself get lost in Eliot for a little while. Something was holding him back. Something, like that something in the back of his mind, that something that he’d forgotten. It was almost there, almost accessible, but…

It just kept slipping through his fingers.

“Do you feel like there’s something we’re forgetting?” Quentin said quietly, almost to himself.

“Q, are you alright?” El said, holding him a little tighter and kissing his cheek.

“I don’t know,” Quentin said honestly.

For a moment, even from inside the cottage, Quentin felt like he could hear the trees rustling. Like something was trying to get in. Like something was trying to find him. Suddenly, he desperately, desperately didn’t want to be found.

Eliot’s hands traveled down Quentin’s sides, resting at his hips. He shifted, stretching out his long legs so Quentin was almost sitting between them and Eliot gently nudged him down so he was fully leaning in to Eliot, his head nestled against Eliot’s chest.

Eliot ran his fingers through Quentin’s hair, brushing it away from his forehead.

“I feel like there’s something I’m missing,” Quentin said absently. “I’m not sure I want to know what it is.”

“So don’t look,” Eliot replied. “Just be here with me.”

Nothing sounded more appealing. Quentin tried to settle his mind, tried to make himself _be_ there with Eliot, tried to make himself detach from whatever strings were pulling him outside.

“I think… I think I have to go out there,” Quentin said.

Eliot sighed, kissing the top of Quentin’s head. “If you say so,” he said. He tangled their fingers together. “I’ll be wherever you need me.”

Quentin frowned a little—that didn’t sound _quite_ like Eliot. Something was off, he knew it was. It wasn’t that Eliot never said things like that—it wasn’t that it wasn’t Eliot’s voice. There was something deeper, like the difference between seeing an original print and a copy.

Quentin squeezed Eliot’s hand once before pulling away and getting to his feet.

As Quentin walked out the door, he was back in the black hoodie he’d arrived in, pulling the sleeves over his hands. The clearing was emptier than it had been, like when he and Eliot first arrived. It didn’t quite look like it had become theirs.

Right at the edge of the trees, Eliot stood stiffly, holding his arms like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“El?” Quentin said. He walked slowly, carefully. Knowing something was wrong.

His eyes connected with Eliot’s and…

He remembered.

He remembered everything. Not like how the Mosaic memories had flooded him like he was reliving them, but like he’d woken up from a dream and had the awful knowledge of his new reality surface with the morning light.

But this wasn’t a dream. Not quite.

“Hi,” the Monster said, glancing around the clearing with a furrowed brow.

“What are you doing here?” Quentin said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

“Hiding,” the Monster said. “This is very strange. What is this place? Is this a memory or a cage? I remember… I remember Eliot’s cage being… different. I never went to it though.”

“Are you—are you possessing _me?”_ Quentin asked, and the second the words came out, he knew the answer.

“You were in the Library. You and… some other person. My sister, she… My sister saw you. She knew what you were doing there. I tried to talk to her, but she—” He frowned, looking down. “She was going to kill you.”

Quentin studied the Monster’s face, finding himself more able to do that knowing that Eliot wasn’t the one being possessed anymore. He figured the Monster only appeared like this to him because it was his own mind, and this was what he knew the Monster to be.

The Monster didn’t seem angry. He didn’t seem to have that detached indifference he often had. It was more like that day with the model planes, when he’d seemed interested in human grief, almost getting into the realm of some kind of understanding.

 Confusion in his expression, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Ever like a little kid.

“And you didn’t want her to kill me,” Quentin replied.

“No,” the Monster said, almost smiling. “It’s the weirdest thing… Like when you didn’t want to kill anything when your dad was dead. Just wanted to think about him and look at things.”

“It’s a human thing,” Quentin replied.

“Human thing,” the Monster repeated, mostly to himself.  

Quentin wasn’t sure what to say. He just kept very still, trying to gauge what sort of moods were bubbling under the surface for the Monster. He’d gotten pretty good at figuring them out, predicting what was going to come next.

The Monster looked confused. Maybe even hurt, sad. And a little hopeful.

Quentin wasn’t sure what to make of it. Or how much danger there was.

“She still wants to kill you,” the Monster said, almost offhand.

Quentin nodded. Yeah, that was about right. “And what do you want?”

“I am hiding from her,” he replied, looking at the ground. “Like hide and seek, but it is not a game. I don’t want… I don’t want her to kill my friends.”

“And we’re friends,” Quentin replied. A question, but not a question.

“Yes,” the Monster said slowly. “We are friends?”

“We are,” Quentin said, a little warily. This felt like unsteady territory, but he wasn’t sure why.

The Monster looked up at him, smile growing, looking relieved. “She told me you didn’t care about me,” he said.

Quentin hesitated, considering. “Did you… believe her?”

The Monster’s smile faded just a little, and the alarm bells started going _danger danger danger_ in Quentin’s head.

“I don’t know,” the Monster said. “My sister, she… I don’t think she cares about me. I don’t think she is my friend. My sister, she—” The Monster paused and frowned, looking confused. “She is not who I thought. It is not how I thought it would be.”

Quentin, unexpectedly, felt something like sympathy. “What were you expecting?” he said carefully.

“A family,” he said. “A name. Like you have.”

“A name?” Quentin repeated. The Monster had said it with something near reverence, something near awe.

“You are Quentin. And there is Julia, and there is Eliot. And there is… Percy.” The Monster looked at Quentin, wide-eyed. “You were all given names with your existence. I don’t think… I don’t think my parents ever gave me a name.”

“And you want to be given a name,” Quentin said. He was never quite sure what to make of what the Monster wanted.

The Monster frowned. “They called me mistake. They called me monster. They never called me anything else.”

Quentin didn’t reply. He felt another unexpected jolt of almost-sympathy. It was hard to blame the Monster for being created.

“They hid me and my sister somewhere they wouldn’t have to look at us… We spent—so much… time… In that place. Until.” The Monster closed his eyes and shivered a little. “Until a Librarian asked me if I wanted… a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Someone to play games with… Someone—who wasn’t my sister.”

Something in his tone… Quentin wondered.

“Your sister,” he started. “What did she do?”

“My sister… hurt me.” The Monster looked at Quentin curiously, head tilted to the side. “And I hurt you. Didn’t I?”

How was Quentin supposed to answer that? He had to break eye contact, standing very still and looking to the side. Studying some wildflowers creeping into the clearing from the forest.

“But I saved you, too,” the Monster insisted, stepping forward. “My sister was going to kill you and I _saved_ you.”

Quentin stepped back automatically. “By possessing me,” he replied.

The Monster froze. “Possessing…”

Was that something else he didn’t understand?

“This is my body you’re using,” Quentin said. “I’m trapped here.”

“Like a prison?” the Monster said. Like he was almost realizing. Like he _wanted_ to understand.

Quentin nodded. “Like a prison,” he said.

The Monster looked troubled. “But I have nowhere else to go.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to claim me,” Quentin replied, his voice low. This felt risky. He was almost certain he shouldn’t be saying this. He gestured around. “This isn’t _yours.”_

The Monster looked around the clearing, at the trees, at the sky. Like he was trying to find something.

He brightened and stepped forward, putting his hands on Quentin’s shoulders.

“I know,” he said. “I will find something, and then we’ll _all_ be able to be friends.”

“I’m not sure—” Quentin started, but the Monster had already vanished.

He didn't know what he was going to say anyway.

Quentin let out a long, thin breath, hanging his head and running his hands over his hair. He locked his fingers together behind his neck as he looked at the ground. There was the familiar way his skin crawled, anticipating pain at any turn. The way his pulse raced and his breathing was never quite steady.

Right. He remembered this.

“Quentin?” he heard behind him. He turned around, and there was Eliot, leaning in the doorway of the cottage with his arms crossed. Looking so much like himself.

And Quentin’s heart sank. Because it _wasn’t_ Eliot. And he knew that now.

God, he had to get out of there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, hey there, hello, I'm still writing this

“I think there’s a way we can use the Mirror Realm,” Alice said. She’d started pacing at this point.

Penny could concede that the pacing was annoying.

“The Mirror Realm,” he replied flatly.

“Something happened to me when I was dealing with it,” she went on, half to herself. “I got, like. Split. Fractured. Into different aspects of myself. I _think,_ if we recreate the mistake I made in a more precise way, we could separate the Monsters out from Julia and Eliot.”

“You think,” he repeated.

She groaned, dropping the book she’d been holding and rubbing her hands down her face. Then she turned to him, glaring with vitriol. “What, do you have a sure thing all thought out? Got any _perfect_ plans hidden somewhere? No, please, since what I’ve got isn’t good enough for you.”

“Yo, _chill,_ Alice,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, your _tone_ did,” she replied, her voice clipped. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t have anything better, but we don’t have a lot of time. And this is _something.”_

He met her glare. Like _she_ was going to intimidate him. He never knew Alice that well to begin with, and he certainly didn’t _trust_ her. What, was he just supposed to accept her plans without question? Julia’s _life_ was at stake.

Alice let out a short sigh, breaking eye contact to pick up the book. “Look,” she said. “I want to save them as much as you do.”

“I doubt that,” Penny muttered.

She shot him another glare, but she really just looked tired.

“I fractured myself by accident,” she said. “I’m _sure_ we can find a way to do it on purpose.”

“Sure, but will it work with possession? This isn’t exactly the same fucking thing, Quinn.”

“I know that. I _know._ You’re not actually helping, Penny. Why don’t you just go? Storm out like Margo or whatever.”

Penny got to his feet, scoffing. “Yeah, maybe Margo’s actually getting somewhere,” he said. He didn’t so much storm out the door as sulk out of it.

He’d already lost one Julia.

And he knew that this wasn’t the same. That this Julia was, in some ways, the girl he loved, and in others, a completely different person.

But the fact of the matter was that he’d _already_ had to watch Julia die.

And he’d rather die than do that again.

\---

“Do we even know the axes will work?” Eliot hissed. “These are ancient god-created monsters we’re talking about here.”

“And I’m not sure about the idea of hacking Julia and Q,” Kady added.

“I don’t know! I don’t fucking know!” Margo snapped back, her arms out. “Got any better plans, because I sure don’t!”

Eliot leaned back into the couch, rubbing his temples. He felt like he needed a bucket of aspirin and several shots of whiskey. He was still getting used to feeling the air on his skin—he hadn’t realized how muted everything had been in the Happy Place, but _fuck,_ everything was so bright and loud out here.

“Quentin is _counting_ on us,” he murmured.

“So’s Julia,” Kady said, an edge in her tone.

Eliot shot her an exasperated look. It wasn’t like he was _forgetting_ Julia, but forgive him if she wasn’t his top priority in comparison to _Quentin._ Of course he was invested in saving them both, but only one of them was the love of his life in multiple timelines, so.

“Yeah, we haven’t fucking forgotten her, chill,” Margo snapped.

“Just making sure,” Kady replied, unfazed by Margo’s glare.

“Ladies,” Eliot said, aiming for a placating tone. He heard his voice, though; he just sounded _tired._ “Quentin and Julia are both getting saved. We’re all on the same page.”

“ _Are_ we?” Margo replied.

Eliot glanced at her. “Bambi.”

She crossed her arms. “Fine.”

\---

She could feel the _girl_ in the back of her mind—

Like a pest, like an itch. It was…

Irritating.

She wondered how her brother tolerated the _noise_ of the humans. How he even _liked_ them.

It was bizarre. She had no interest in the way this so-called “Julia” was nagging at the back of her mind, trying to break through to take control again.

She was not interested in the petty interests and thoughts and complaints of the humans. They created things that were worth taking the time to destroy, and they were amusing when she was bored enough.

But they were nothing more than inconveniences, ultimately.

She just wanted revenge. She just wanted war.

She wanted to find her parents and make them suffer. She wanted to find stray Librarians to torture, since the Librarians who’d taken her power were already dead. She wanted to curse those that had trapped her and hurt her and made her suffer. And she wanted to hurt anyone and anything that reminded her of them.

Her brother, meanwhile, had petty, emotional concerns.

Distractions and worthless desires.

Her brother had always been the weaker one.

No matter. She didn’t need him.

She’d never needed him.

\---

Quentin was still in the clearing by the cottage, but he was alone.

Once he’d realized he could control whether Eliot was there or not, he couldn’t take it anymore. The manufactured Eliot, the Eliot his mind had conjured up—it wasn’t _Eliot,_ and as much as Quentin wanted _desperately_ to see any version of Eliot he could, it just hurt too much.

That was part of what had been so awful all these months.

Because seeing the Monster… Being tortured by him, toyed with and thrown around…

It was almost worth it. Just to be able to see Eliot’s face and eyes, even if they were close to unrecognizable.

Because there were those moments—fleeting, hardly there moments—where the Monster would turn his head, or get distracted, or fall into his weird equivalent of sleep… And Quentin could look at Eliot’s face and almost imagine it was him.

And it was almost worth all the pain, just for that.

Somehow, the conjured almost-Eliot was too painful. Quentin kept realizing in the back of his mind that he didn’t even know if Eliot had survived possession, really. He hadn’t had proof of life since that day in the park.

_Peaches and plums, motherfucker._

Quentin scrubbed his hands down his face. The Fillorian sky was overcast, the threat of rain heavy in the air. It didn’t rain often in Fillory.

He just remembered one day in particular—

Not long after Arielle had died—

Quentin had fallen into a depression so deep that he could barely leave his bed. He had to force himself to eat. He didn’t even bother sleeping, really, he just stared at the ceiling—

_I don’t know how to help you,_ Eliot’s voice, low and stressed, almost a whisper so that Teddy wouldn’t be able to hear.

_I’m sorry,_ Quentin had said, the words slow and awkward in his mouth.

Eliot had sighed, running a hand over his hair. His eyes, his soft worried eyes, studying Quentin’s face—

_This fucking place,_ Eliot had muttered. _No psychiatry, no anti-depressants. Not even any therapists. What am I supposed to do, Q?_

Quentin had shut his eyes tightly, feeling guilty and useless and empty. _I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m sorry._

_No, don’t—don’t be sorry. I know it isn’t your fault._

_Just wait it out…_ Quentin had sighed. Why couldn’t he just be _better?_

_Listen, Q—are you going to be okay if I take Teddy and go to the market? We don’t have a lot of food, and we need soap and I just—_ Eliot had reached down, lacing their fingers together. _I wanted to get you some tea. And some honey, and stuff for soup. I know it’s not, like, a cold, but I just don’t know what else to do. Is that okay?_

Quentin’s chest had warmed, feeling more than he had in days, even if it was muted and distant. _Yeah—yeah, El, that’s a great idea. I’ll be fine. I’ll, um, I’ll even try to, uh. Get up. And garden. Or something._

Eliot had smiled, small and bare and soft. _We won’t be long._

It had rained that day—stormed, really. Poured and thundered. Quentin had dragged himself out of bed when he’d realized how long Eliot and Teddy had been gone. He’d managed to walk out into the rain to wash off in the creek, and he’d waited on the porch for them to get back.

They’d been soaked through, miserable and bickering.

Quentin had ended up making _them_ tea and soup, since they’d both caught colds.

His depressive episode wasn’t _over—_ it had been a long one. But that was the day it started feeling sunnier, despite the dark clouds.

Quentin sighed, looking up.

The sky looked like that day.

“You were so sweet,” he heard Eliot’s voice beside him. “I mean, the soup wasn’t _nearly_ as good as mine, but bless your heart, you did try.”

Quentin almost cracked a smile as a reflex before he remembered.

He refused to look.

“I don’t want you here,” he said quietly.

He didn’t feel Eliot leave, but the emptiness that grew beside him told him that he was gone.

“Quentin! Queeeen-tin!” he heard from somewhere behind him, at the tree line.

Quentin squeezed his eyes closed. Eliot’s voice. But not Eliot’s voice.

“What now?” he murmured, barely able to muster up any sense of self preservation. Whatever. If the Monster was going to kill him, what could he do anyway? He didn’t even have his body anymore.

He got to his feet, walking towards the noise.

The Monster was smiling, looking pleased.

“I have found—a new body,” he said. “I can release you, and then… Then we can. Find Eliot, and we can _all_ be friends.”

“ _No,”_ Quentin said, surprising himself with the certainty and strength he managed to put in.

The Monster’s smile fell. “No?”

“You can’t just—” Quentin let out a short, hopeless laugh. “ _No._ Okay? I’m not going to just—like, save myself so you can hurt someone else. I’m not—fuck, I’m not putting anyone else through this.”

He started to frown. “I don’t understand.”

Quentin shook his head. “Of course you don’t.”

And the Monster—to Quentin’s complete shock—looked _hurt._

“Well, I—” he tried. He frowned again, looking down. “If I can’t. Use _your_ body, and I can’t—use _Eliot’s_ body, and I can’t use this strange man who made my coffee milkshake—”

“Did you, um. Did you kidnap a Starbucks barista?” Quentin asked.

The Monster stared for a few moments. “I don’t—know that word.”

“Right.”

“Ba-ri-sta.”

“Those are the people that make the drinks.”

“Oh. Then yes.”

“Okay. Put him back where you found him.”

The Monster frowned. “But then… then I have to stay in your body. And you’re—you’re mad at me. About that.”

Quentin closed his eyes. He was always an okay babysitter, but Jesus Christ.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said carefully. Not all the kids he used to babysit had god-like powers and no sense of right and wrong.

Well, there was that one kid, Tyler, that he totally suspected was some kind of supernatural monster. But he’d never gotten confirmation of it.

“You _are,_ ” the Monster insisted, almost plaintively. “You _are,_ but I _rescued_ you.”

“I know that,” Quentin said. He should get a fucking award for his patience. “Thank you for saving me. Look, I’d rather you be possessing me than some random innocent person, okay? So don’t just go find someone else.”

“Possessing,” the Monster repeated, murmuring. He frowned.

“Did you used to have a body? Your _own_ body?” Quentin asked, as kindly as he could. _At least Eliot is okay,_ he thought. Well, probably. Hopefully. Fuck, he didn’t even know, really.

The Monster looked distressed. “I don’t remember,” he said.

Fucking great.

Looked like this was Quentin’s life now.

Maybe he should just get used to only having Eliot as a memory.


End file.
